


Just Like A Dealer

by hbunting1403, tintagel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Card Games, Carpenter!Derek, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski UST, Domestic, First Kiss, First Time, Gratuitous Swearing, Hand & Finger Kink, Hands, I don't even know what Stiles does in this fic, I use swearing as punctuation, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Fixation, Pack Nights, Stiles Stilinski Has an Oral Fixation, Stiles' Mouth, Unbeta'd, and so do these guys now that I've touched them with my gay little hands, he's just there, making Derek sexually frustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbunting1403/pseuds/hbunting1403, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintagel/pseuds/tintagel
Summary: "...Derek is determined to ignore whatever innocuously sexual thing Stiles is “accidentally” doing with his mouth or hands or entire body . Determined, but really really tired.The fatigue wins out over the determination when he follows Stiles through to the kitchen and finds him straddling a kitchen chair and doing - of all things - a Rubik’s cube, his tongue poking out from between his teeth in concentration. The sleeves of his soft-looking plaid shirt are rolled up to the elbows, putting his frankly obnoxiously nice forearms on display and, to add insult to injury, he seems to have nearly completed the cube. Because of course he has."*I gave tintagel the prompts "cards," "pillar" and "silk". She wrote the opening (which I've tweaked slightly for my own nefarious purposes) and then this happened.In which UST is resolved (and then some) and Scott is just disappointed that all of this happened in his kitchen.





	Just Like A Dealer

Stiles is shuffling cards and Derek  _ cannot concentrate _ .

He’s always fiddling with something; one time Lydia had a stray scrap of silk on her desk (one of many samples she had by the bucketload, since choosing a wedding dress is apparently a military operation in the Martin household) and the mouthy little shit had come THIS close to stuffing it in his mouth.

Oral fixation.

Christ.

Honestly Derek could easily push him against the pillar holding up the load bearing wall of Scott & Allison’s kitchen and just… take.

And three weeks after The Card Shuffling Incident (during which he ripped through two throw pillows, much to Allison’s combined consternation and reluctant amusement), he does precisely that.

* * *

 

Stiles isn’t shuffling cards this time, which sends relief (and a little disappointment, if he’s brutally honest) coursing through Derek’s body; he relaxes the bone-shattering grip he’d had on the neck of a bottle of red, handing it off to Scott who wanders away to find glasses from the dining room. Derek’s been busy today, preparing an order of matching high chairs built from rough-hewn cedar, the names of the twin toddlers they’re intended for carved into the back of each one. When Stiles had seen the designs the previous week, he’d actually  _ cooed  _ and talked about how much he loved kids and how he couldn’t wait to be a dad and  _ why are you looking at me like that, Derek _ ?

If Derek had been in possession of ovaries, they would have exploded.

In the here and now, at the weekly pack meeting hosted by Scott & Allison - which is really just an excuse to eat a lot of charred meat and play video games - Derek is determined to ignore whatever innocuously sexual thing Stiles is “accidentally” doing with his mouth or hands or  _ entire body _ . Determined, but really  _ really  _ tired.

The fatigue wins out over the determination when he follows Stiles through to the kitchen and finds him straddling a kitchen chair and doing - of all things - a Rubik’s cube, his tongue poking out from between his teeth in concentration. The sleeves of his soft-looking plaid shirt are rolled up to the elbows, putting his frankly  _ obnoxiously  _ nice forearms on display and, to add insult to injury, he seems to have nearly completed the cube. Because of course he has.

“Stop sitting like a gigolo. Get up.” Stiles looks up, smiling when he sees Derek like it’s an absolute delight to be in the same room as him - like Derek wouldn’t follow him to the ends of the Earth, let alone into the  _ kitchen _ \- which really isn’t helping.

“Plenty of other chairs, big guy,” he says amiably, gesturing with one hand to the completely empty kitchen even as he pushes himself to his feet. The laughter and conversation floating in from the patio, just out of sight, makes it abundantly clear that Scott has forgotten about the glasses - which is good because Derek doesn’t really need any witnesses to what he’s probably going to end up doing.

“Stiles,” he says, voice low as he takes a step forward across the kitchen tiles. “Why are you sitting in here by yourself, doing arguably the most annoying puzzle ever invented?” Stiles snorts, tossing the cube in the air to Derek, who catches it reflexively.

“Most annoying puzzle?  _ Please _ . This is Sudoku erasure and I won’t stand for it.” Derek just raises his eyebrows at him, so Stiles rolls his eyes and answers the question easily. “I was waiting for you -  _ obviously _ . Why did you come in here first instead of going outside with the others?” It sounds like an accusation now, and Derek shrugs, some of the bravado he’d felt dwindling slightly.

“Scott went looking for wine glasses,” he says, like that’s any kind of explanation at all, and Stiles is suddenly very close to him, jabbing one of the fingers of his distracting hands into Derek’s chest.

“Oh my god, you are the actual  _ worst _ ,” he exclaims, fondness obviously battling with anger in his face, his body, his  _ scent _ . “You came in here because you can’t  _ not _ , just like I can’t  _ not  _ wait for you. Now do something about it before one of us gets killed by something mundane like  _ old fucking age _ .”

Honestly, Derek’s relieved. He’s so tired of being careful.

The Rubik’s cube lies abandoned on the kitchen tiles, and somehow Derek’s leather jacket ends up on the table at the other end of the room, along with a plaid shirt that nobody with two eyes and a lick of common sense would believe belonged to anybody but Stiles. The kiss is hot and frantic, and Derek revels in the feel of smooth, lithe muscle beneath his hands as he presses Stiles firmly into  _ that  _ pillar, struggling to find some logical way of removing Stiles’ ridiculous slogan tee without having to stop kissing him. Eventually they have to break for air, so he uses that brief moment of necessity to grab the hem and yank upwards, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat when it takes more than a split-second. Stiles is responding in kind, muttering “come on, off off off” as he rucks Derek’s shirt up under his armpits and eventually -  _ finally  _ \- over his head.

Then they’re kissing again and Stiles’ tongue is in Derek’s mouth and they’re touching  _ everywhere _ and somewhere, distantly, Derek can just about make out someone saying  _ “okay how do we turn this off? Allison, stop laughing at me - you have human senses, you don’t understand how terrible this is!”  _ He smiles against Stiles’ mouth. They may as well give the pack their money’s worth.

 

* * *

 

“I still don’t understand why you had to do it on our kitchen floor,” Scott mutters, his face mutinous as he takes in Stiles’ hastily buttoned shirt and grinning face. Seriously. Neither of them have stopped smiling for at least an hour. Derek suspects it’s starting to freak people out. Stiles shrugs and Derek’s smile only widens.

“Hey man, at least we didn’t do it in your bed.” Scott wrinkles up his nose at the thought and Derek actually laughs, which surprises even him. Stiles’ smile, still blinding and beautiful, is now directed at him, and he wonders just for a second if Stiles would consent to a very long and very thorough game of two-person strip poker.

Derek suspects he’d probably say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Martin Harley Band's "Dealer", which is beautiful and perfect, just like their entire discography. I'd highly recommend the album 'Drumrolls for Somersaults', which is a complete and absolute gateway drug to loving them unreservedly.
> 
> "Just like a dealer, yeah,  
> Making me need you,  
> You're like a drug,  
> I just can't get enough of"
> 
> Comments are welcome, as always, as are picture of cute greyhounds (i.e. all greyhounds), gifts of Stargate memorabilia, and any diet Coke you may have lying around. Pepsi is also acceptable, but not preferred.
> 
> But, I mean... comments are probably easier for you.


End file.
